My Object All Sublime
by ReverendKilljoy
Summary: Gil reviews Sara's work, and he spots something she missed. They actually talk. A re-post of my first attempt at CSI fan fiction, so be kind. G-S fluffy bunny and mature language.


Unscientific Disclaimer:

Based wholly or partly on characters and situations created by Anthony E. Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer, Carol Mendelsohn, Ann Donahue, Alliance Atlantis and CBS Productions and who knows what others. Rated PG: An unauthorized work of speculative fiction with some adult content, brief graphic language, and mature themes. Parental discretion is advised. Do not distribute for profit or without notification to the author. Not to be taken internally. No user serviceable parts inside. Made in the USA. I didn't say you were guilty- the evidence did. Strongest fan fiction available without a prescription. May cause dizziness, dry mouth or nausea. Do not read my fan fiction while driving, drinking or operating heavy machinery.

_Author's Note: I boosted the title from a Robert A. Heinlein story which he considered so terrible that he refused to allow it to be reprinted in his lifetime. Although I am re-posting this, it is actually my first attempt at CSI fiction, so please be kind. –ReverendKilljoy_

My Object All Sublime

"Sara, I'd like to talk to you for a minute if I could." Grissom used his respectful voice, and his body language seemed neutral. She decided this must be work-related. They talked as they walked through the lab.

"Sure thing, Gris. What about?" She stuck her hands in her coat, guessing what this was about.

"I've been reading your notes for the Carver case. A few things struck me."

She tried to control the tic in her smile when he mentioned Bella Carver. A little girl, she'd been sexually assaulted in her father's gourmet food shop by an employee. Her mother, in a misguided attempt to help her daughter, had cleaned up the child and compromised any evidence on the girl. It had devolved into a very nasty he-said she-said. No arrest.

"What could I do?" She balled her fists in her coat pockets, trying not to let him see how angry it made her. Trying not to let anyone see. It's what she did. "What can I do? I know Miller's guilty. There was insufficient physical or trace evidence. No usable DNA was recovered."

"Reading this, I could tell you were upset. We're trained to find evidence, to listen to what it tells us. Sometimes we want more." He placed a hand on the small of her back as they passed through the doors by the DNA lab. The tension in her was striking, unsettling.

"I wondered if you had thought about sublimation," he suggested softly. They had reached the break room, thankfully empty, and they sat down. He faced her across the table. She turned, facing the doorway and refusing to sink back into the uncomfortable chair.

"Of course I've thought about it. I've thought, maybe this is the one. This is the case that will make everything seem ok. But it never is. Maybe this is the guy we'll catch, and we'll put him in jail, and I'll never have to feel this way again. Maybe this is the little girl who we save, the one who's me, the… But it never is."

She collapsed slowly back into the chair, and her arms came up to cradle her head. She held her temples in her spread fingers as though to hold her brain inside her body. She leaned slowly forward till her elbows rested on the table.

"Sara-" Grissom began uncomfortably, but she cut him off.

"Of course it's sublimation, Gil! Christ, why do I do anything I do? Why do I walk around with this huge chip on my shoulder and the matching hole in my heart? Of course it's sublimation, it's hero worship of you so I can deny the feelings I have for you, it's anger and study and anger and science and anger and evidence and anger and anger always and everywhere."

"Sara-" he tried again, flushing. He wanted to reach out to her, but he didn't know how.

"So yes, Gris." She lifted her head and looked at him. "Yes, I've thought about sublimation. And to be honest I don't think it's really working for me any more." She opened her eyes wide and wiped at them with her sleeve, tears rolling off the leather.

"Why, do you have a suggestion?" She sniffled, trying to collect herself. Her voice sounded almost normal.

"The girl. This girl," Grissom looked down at his hands, palm down on the table, "Bella Carver claimed the assault took place in the flash freezer, where the most perishable items are stored."

"Yes?" Sara was looking at him, and even as he began to speak she knew what her mistake had been.

"On dry ice, Sara. Which, with his body heat and hers would have…"

"Sublimed," she finished his thought in a whisper. "Sublimating from a solid directly to a vapor."

"Yes. And after he... and after, any sweat or other fluids that had evaporated would have been sublimated again as the freezer cooled, probably onto the compressor fan blades."

"Oh." She looked at him because she could not look away. Fuck.

"We should…" She stopped and took a breath, finally tearing her eyes from him to look at the ceiling as she spoke. "We should swab the compressor blades then."

"I had Nick do it. He was there taking follow-ups. Greg got us this."

He reached into the file he was carrying and brought out the DNA analysis.

"Miller denied he'd ever been in that freezer. His job was front counter." Grissom pushed the paperwork across the table to her. "You're instincts were right, Sara. He lied."

"Good then. Nice catch." She was hollow. She breathed in and out, but purely by reflex. She wondered what she would do. Not just now, but ever.

"Sara, I want you to talk to someone."

"I think," she started, and took a quick breath, " I think. I think?" She stood up. He followed. Her breathing continued, her heart kept beating. She could not have said why.

Grissom reached across the short space between them. He took her hand in his, and his other hand traced her cheek for just a moment before settling on her shoulder.

"Don't. Don't think. Not now. Meet this woman, and talk. When you're through, come find me?"

"I don't know what to say. I don't know how I can talk to you." Her voice was dead, but her eyes showed the faintest spark of life for the first time in several minutes.

"You don't have to, honey," he said very softly, and leaned up to put a soft kiss on her forehead.

"So," Greg said from the doorway, where he and Warrick were standing with eyebrows raised, "I'm guessing this was more supposed to be a private moment."

"You think?" asked Warrick, smacking him across the back of the head with his open hand. "Sorry, Gris. Sara." He reached past Greg and pulled the door closed.

Sara looked at the closed door, then back at Grissom. His expression was unchanged, his focus had never left her. It was comforting. It was possibly even right.

"Well," she said with a shadow of her usual sass, "I guess we're going to have to talk some, now. And thank you." She reached her arms around him and hugged him. It wasn't intimate, it wasn't friendly, it was just her, needing him, and him letting her.

She could feel his whiskers on her neck as he whispered to her.

"Any time. Always."


End file.
